


Your Ginger Housemate

by cKayE



Series: Your Ginger Housemate [1]
Category: Gotham (TV), Jerome Valeska - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Psycho, Slow Burn, hostage, secret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22853377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cKayE/pseuds/cKayE
Summary: Gotham was no joyride, Y/n knew that.  However y/n would never have thought that they would need to start sharing their house with a psychotically unstable ginger.  Jerome Valeska to be more specific.  Now how's that for a life changer?
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Reader, Jerome Valeska/You
Series: Your Ginger Housemate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642933
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	1. Unexpected

There he goes again, rummaging through the fridge like he owns the place. Most of the time, he annoyed the shit out of you. He was arrogant, dangerous, unstable, irritable, careless and not to mention infuriating… but what the heck, you found him boyishly charming.   
His perfectly styled, flaming hair. His dark eyes forever filled with sparks of curiosity. His broad grin which illuminated his features with mocking and mischief…   
Yet somehow, his imperfections are what lured you in the most. The stubborn strand of hair that always fell over his forehead. The unpredictability of his moods, like a flame on dry grass. His overstretched smile thanks to a “missing face mishap.” Even the faint, puckered, pink scars that circled his eyes and face. Yup. Jerome Valeska. He was your housemate.

Not that you had had much say in the matter.

_~ Flashback ~_

_The wind howled behind the windowpanes, and torrential sheets of rain battered down upon Gotham City. Thunder and lightning filled the night sky – Gods battling with the most lethal of electricity._

_You’d been tossing and turning for hours, the clattering of debris hurtling down the street and the constant howling of dogs made even relaxing an impossible feat._

_‘CRASH!’_

_You jumped up with a start. That wasn’t from in the street. That was from downstairs. Someone was in the house._

_Quickly, quietly, you jumped off the bed and eased the baseball bat you hid behind your door, off the wall. Gripping it like a lifeline, you crept down the hallway towards the stairs. You couldn’t see clearly. The power appeared to have been cut, filling the house with an ominous, pressing darkness. Easing down the stairs, you re-adjusted your grip on the bat as cold sweat caused it to slip. The cold, wooden stairs caused you to shiver as your body heat seeped out into the air around you. Your breathing began to hitch as fear engulfed your lungs. Gotham was no safe place, especially in your part of town, but hell! Break-ins happened to other people. Not You!_

_‘Stay calm y/n, stay calm.’_

_As you entered the kitchen, you could feel the cold wind rushing through a smashed window above the bench. Rain swept through the opening, soaking the tabletop and floor like your own personal waterfall._

_Shivers violently overtook our spine as you prayed to whatever beings might be looking over you that it was debris broke that broke window. Please only debris and not something or_ someone _more dangerous. Hopefully, the odds were in your favour tonight._

_As you crept further into the kitchen, past your chairs and small dining table, lightning filled the room, revealing a dark silhouette standing only meters away. Attacking distance! A scream tore through your throat as you turned on your heel and bolted for the stairs._

_‘Why would you leave your phone back in your room. Idiot!’_

_As adrenaline swept through your veins and your sense of flight kicked in, an iron grip caught your arm, wrenching you back towards causing the bat, the supposed lifeline, to plummet from your fingers. What was the point of taking it down anyway? You knew you didn’t have had the guts to swing it at someone. Violence had never been your forte, even in possible, life-threatening situation it seemed._

_The figure spun you around. Its hand covered your mouth while the other held a cold blade against your throat. A pitiful whimper escaped you lips as you felt a breath brush past your ear, later accompanied by a menacing chuckle. A low reverberating taunt climbing its way up the figure’s throat. No, not a figure. A man. He leant closer to your ear,_

_“Hello, gorgeous. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”_

_Once more your throat betrayed you, letting out a squeak of fear, and you couldn’t help but think, ‘Oh God. The odds really aren’t in my favour.’_

_**Later**_

_Jerome Valeska. Jerome Valeska was in your house! You’d seen how he had plagued the news for the past week. You’d seen how he had finally been thrown into Arkham Asylum… again, and how he had escaped… again!_

_Now you watched as he rummaged through the kitchen draws while you sat on one of the rickety dining chairs, faced towards him, paralysed with fear. He hadn’t tied you up. He must’ve guessed you wouldn’t run away, not perceiving you as stupid. Because that’ what running would be. Stupid._ You _weren’t._

_You were, however, wanting to know what exactly he was going to do with you, but daren’t ask. The maniac raised his head, looking directly at you as he began to speak. Or maybe taunt was a better term._

_“Wow don’t make too much noise, you’ll wake the neighbours,” he smiled and rolled his eyes before continuing, “Okay, never mind. I’ll cut to the chase. You see, I’m in a bit of a pickle. The cops may or may not be looking for me at this very moment, and I need somewhere to crash for the night.”_

_He resumed looking through the draws before smiling suddenly and lifting an object to eye-level. Still grinning happily, Jerome observed the small paring knife in his hand, glistening in the dim light as he turned it from one side to another. With a flick of his hand, the blade spun around his fingers and back into his firm grip. You gulped._

_‘What’s he going to do to me?’_

_The madman began walking towards you, taking his merry time. It made it all the more terrifying – exactly as he intended._

_Swinging a chair in front of you and plonking himself down onto the back-to-front piece of furniture, he pointed at you as he spoke, knife hand gesturing and flailing about._

_“So here’s what’s gonna happen._ I’m _gonna stay here for the night, and_ you _will let me. Plus,_ you _will never tell_ anyone _about it. Ever. Got it?” He asked with a smug wink._

_You finally found the courage to speak, “You can’t stay here. I-I won’t let you.” Your voice shook pathetically, you internally cursed yourself. ‘One time. One time you could have shown just a little fearless authority._

_Jerome began to smile, shaking his head ever so slightly._ _“Well, you are mistaken, because you will let me. Wanna know why? That was rhetorical. Don't answer_

_“Because one: I’ve cut your phone lines; and two: I’ve turned off the power.” A sadistic grin spread across his face. “You catch my drift sweet cheeks?”_

_“Don’t call me that!” There was the authority you were looking for… not that it appeared to help._

_Jerome chuckled, “Frankly, I’ll call you whatever I like, because, I’m the one with the knife and you, well…” he drifted off, smirking as he shrugged his shoulders and twirled the knife around his fingers before resting his chin on free his hand._

_Fear began to course through your veins like liquid ice, but you urged yourself to stay rational. Logical._

_Jerome obviously didn’t want to create more trouble than necessary - although, if he had to, you guessed he wouldn’t complain much. He was soaked to the bone, his hair a deep red in its saturated and dishevelled state as it lay flat on his forehead and over his eyes. His trench coat weighed him down with water, dripping puddles onto the floor. He was still human, well mostly, and you didn’t know of many humans that enjoyed ice cold water encasing your body with suffocating resistance._

_You sighed, knowing you were only delaying the inevitable and may as well attempt to play along to figure out what to do in the morning. The morning!_

_“Are… are you going to be here in the morning?”_

_“Ah, that’s better! No. I’ll be_ long _gone. You won’t see me again… in the flesh anyway,” he giggled._

_A wave of relief washed over you. You weren’t seeing him again. You might live a couple more hours. If not more!_

_‘Maybe the odds_ are _in my favour?’_

\- End of Flashback -

You shook your head, smiling slightly because the odds _were_ in your favour, and had been ever since. Even if you did see Jerome again, and again, and again. 

“What’s so funny sweet cheeks?” Jerome was smirking, leaning against the doorway causing you to jump.

‘ _How does he just appear like that?’_

“Nothing moron. Now how many times do I have to tell you, don’t call me that!”

Jerome merely laughed and walked out of sight while calling out, 

“Oh, I’m not gonna stop. I’m just gonna keep using these nicknames. And one day, you won’t hate them as much as you think.”

“Whatever!”

He only giggled, “See you later… Sweet cheeks!” With that, you heard the back door slam.

You sighed and smiled, because, deep down, you loved the pet names he’d call you. You always had.


	2. Flipped Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jerome is beginning to turn even your living conditions, into an unpredictable mess.

You had just arrived at your apartment from grocery shopping. Usually, you'd be able to walk back home in a considerably short amount of time. This week however, was different. This week - and for seemed was going to be a while longer - you were catering for an extra person. A person with an enormous appetite! The load had more than doubled, making the walk home so much harder.. You almost dreaded that this would become the norm for you... almost. That wasn't the only thing that had changed either.

Connections with your friends had turned from limited to close to non-existent. You had never really been one to socialise often, preferring to focus on study then the week's new gossip. You did miss one of your closest friends however, but she was travelling abroad thanks to her nurse degree and was able able to keep very little contact. You didn't mind getting to avoid the less than savoury types in your journalism classes, but it got hard sometimes. Emotionally draining actually. One could only take so much from a manic criminal without break and it not begin to take a toll. You were surprised you had gotten to nearly two weeks.

As you arrived at the apartment, you paused at the front door. Although Jerome has been here for a small while, it still gave you a shock each time you saw the ginger in your apartment. You’d warmed up to each other in a considerably short amount of time after your initial fear of him had all but depleted. You’d realised he wasn’t going to do anything to harm you. Intentionally anyway.

If anything, Jerome seemed to enjoy the company. He still frightened you, especially when he would just turn up at your doorway with no indicator on how long he’d been there. Jerome also seemed to have a freakish ability to walk around making no noise at all, not to mention he would always make it his mission to scare you as frequently as possible. It usually included coming up behind you and saying something as simple as “Boo,” in your ear, his chin practically brushing against your shoulder. The man had no sense of personal space! This, of course, would cause you to jump and usually yell in fright. You’d turn around and glare at him which would simply cause him to cackle even louder. You’d then have to tell him to shut up otherwise the neighbours would hear. Not that it did much. He’d cover his mouth but just burst out into a fit of giggles. Either way, he had made your life much more… interesting.

After the effort of unlocking the door and opening it with your foot, you walked into your little fantasy world - that’s what you liked to call it anyway… a fantasy world which had been completely trashed! Jerome sat in the middle of the room clearly too busy to care you had come home.

“What the hell Valeska?! I leave you for _two_ hours, and this is what I come back too? What is all this junk? It’s only 6:30 for God’s sake!”

The dining room table, chairs, the lounge, television, bookshelf, and lamps had all been pushed against the walls, leaving a large space full of duffel bags. Their contents spilt across the floor.

Jerome looked up with an irritated smile, tilting his head to the side. 

“Uh, _‘this junk,’_ , is my _stuff_. And I would appreciate, y/n, if you kindly did not touch anything just yet. Thank you… didja’ get that stuff I asked for?” 

He looked down as he asked the question, seemingly too busy to care if you needed assistance. His mood swings almost gave you whiplash. He just went from amused to serious in a split second! 

Shaking your head, you attempted to step over everything, but it was precarious. The shopping bags caused you to almost topple onto a pile of what you would class as junk and with a huff, you hauled the bags onto the kitchen counter before turning to confront Jerome. He was smiling! He must’ve been amused by your less-than-graceful trip across the room. Now you were mad.

“Yes, I _did_. But I don’t understand why you’d need the stain remover -”

“ _Heavy_ stain remover, right?” He enquired without even glancing in your direction. 

You continued in a heartbeat, “Ugh, yes. All those different steel polishes and a packet of rags. You didn’t even bother to give a hand, but you watched? You’re ridiculous! Where’d you even get all this stuff?”

Jerome begrudgingly looked up, obviously irritated. “Here and there. What? Don’t think I wouldn’t have made stashes around the place? I wasn’t letting the stupid Feds chuck _all_ my stuff… again.” At that, he rolled his eyes, shook his head and continued. He was acting as if _you_ were the one with issues!

“What’re you doing anyway? And what’s with all the bags? Don’t give me a half ass answer either. You live under my roof, I wanna’ know what you’ve dragged under it,” you demanded

“ _Jeez,_ yes mom,” He dragged ‘mom’ out, mocking you, “Didn’t realise I wasn’t allowed privacy.”

“Just get on with it, would you?” You folded your arms, impatient.

“I’m organising everything,” As Jerome explained, he pointed to the now small or non-existent piles, “Stuff I can use at the moment, stuff I can try and fix, stuff that needs cleaning and stuff I’m just gonna get rid of.”

“And the stuff is?” You were surprised at the way he’d thought everything through. He didn’t strike you as a planner.

Jerome chuckled, “Hmm… show you or tell you…hmm. I’ll tell ya’. If you _really_ wanna see it all, you’re gonna have to help me out.” He smiled mischievously, resting his cheek on his fist. Jerome knew exactly how to play you, getting precisely what he wanted. He convinced you to buy chocolate mousse cups for god-sake!

You threw your hands into the air, “Oh fine, I’ll help. But you have to tell me first.”

“Goody! Okay, so there’s guns, knives, clothes, ammo, shoes -”

“Wait, wait, wait. Did you say shoes? I’ve only seen you wear one pair.”

Jerome sighed as if explaining himself was one big bundle of effort. For such a seemingly ambitious and ‘energetic’ person, he seemed to really hate effort in small proportions. Even if someone usually wouldn’t class it as effort.

“Wow, y/n, aren’t you observant. But what really gets me is that you’ll ask about shoes but not the, uh, more lethal items,” he smiled as your cheeks flared crimson. 

“Okay, here’s the thing. I like shoes, alright? They're… easy to, keep. I’ve gotta few, it mixes things up. Some of it for different purposes… and some just because. Besides, I still find it strange you’re more interested in clothing than you are weapons,” he shrugged

You shook your head, “Whatever… and how many’s a few anyway?”

“What? Shoes? I dunno. They’re all in that bag,” He replied nonchalantly, nodding towards the bag next to him. You looked at it and back at Jerome. It wasn’t small. Definitely larger than average duffel bags. 

“Wow, okay… Anything else?”

“Yeah. Trophies… in a sense, if that’s what you wanna call ‘em.”

“Right. So, what am _I_ meant to do?” You asked perplexed and slightly wearily.

“Grab the stuff I wanted you to get, grab a bag and I’ll tell you.”

You did as you were told, finding it impossible to stay mad at Jerome. He was so easy going. Something that was quite foreign to you. Your mother was always one who strived for perfection, and it rubbed off over the years. Jerome seemed different to what the media portrayed him as. Well, with what you had seen anyway. A person no one else knew about. He wasn’t just the laughing psychopath everyone saw him as - even if a psychopath wasn’t the right term. Sociopath was immensely more accurate. Well… maybe. You were no expert, but you knew him better than anyone really. Well you, and maybe the people he’d worked with before. 

_‘I should ask him about that. The Maniax? Some of them are still around… would they do something to me if they knew?’_ It was a scary thought, but something for another time. 

You grabbed a bag and slowly opened it. Thankfully, it was only full of clothes. He didn’t have many, but he wasn’t deprived either. There was a variety, ranging from casual to formal and a few in between. As you sorted through them, you began realising some clothes that were covered in dark stains. After closer inspection, you threw them back into the bag.

“Ugh! Jerome, there’s blood on them!”

“Wow relax doll face. It’s dry, it can’t kill you.” 

You glared at him, simply causing him to laugh and shake his head. 

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know! I mean c’mon y/n, you aren’t that stupid. Ha ha ha!” He laughed even harder at your expression. You really didn’t have any idea.

“ _That’s_ what the stain remover was for? Are you kidding!” You exclaimed, rubbing your hands on your jeans prolifically, “Who’s is it anyway?”

“Huh? Oh, the blood. Dunno. Not like I wrote a list. Some random, I guess. _Could_ be mine, but I doubt it. Don’t worry, I’ll clean them myself. The polish, in case you’re wondering, is for the other stuff.”

“You polish your knives!?” You were more surprised you hadn’t figured it out more than anything. It wasn’t that you were oblivious… you’d just never been exposed to this lifestyle. A life full of danger, weapons and, inevitably, a complete and utter maniac. All sides you tried to ignore.

“Well, yeah. A showman’s gear must be presentable,” 

You raised an eyebrow.

“Anyhoo, so there are no more shocks, you can just do my clothes and shoes. All good, I’ll do the rest.”

“Yeah, yeah… moron. Why would there be shocks?” You didn’t know if it was a good idea to ask, or whether he would even answer, but what the heck?

Jerome smiled deviously, “I can’t tell you,” he sung.

Curiosity was your worst weakness, and he knew it! You didn’t persist on the matter though, neither did he elaborate, so you simply focussed on the task at hand.

After the initial shock of your discoveries, (one including the ‘Maniax’ costume and GCPD police uniform, which he took back from one of those crazy followers he had), you found he owned twenty-six pairs of shoes! ‘ _Why the hell would someone need so many?’_

****

“Ten o'clock? Wow, that took longer than I thought. What now?” You leant forward like an excited puppy. Although there wasn’t much talking involved, you’d had fun. There were, of course, the snide comments and sexual innuendos Jerome seemed to know an abundance of here and there, but you loved how you’d been able to just hang around Jerome. It made you feel privileged. Special. You hadn’t felt like this is a very long time. It made you worry about your own mental wellbeing.

_I shouldn’t be feeling this way!_

He looked at you, apparently amused. “You’re not tired?”

“Well, now I am.” You pretended to pout but gave up and smiled. Jerome looked into your eyes, and you held each other’s gaze longer than normal. Suddenly, Jerome’s expression changed, and he raised his eyebrow, smiling.

“I’ll go - _yawn_ \- to bed.”

Fatigue had taken over very quickly. You didn’t know why, but considering you had work tomorrow, it was probably for the best you went to bed. Those CD’s and comics weren’t going to sell themselves.

“Well, night Jerome.”

“Night sweet cheeks.” He smiled when you scowled at him.

“Ugh, whatever.”

Smiling, you dragged yourself upstairs, but not before a final glance over your shoulder. Jerome was fiddling with a knife, a confused expression on his face.


End file.
